


What Looks Like Crazy

by Diaphenia



Category: New Girl, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bars and Pubs, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 19:46:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2162871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diaphenia/pseuds/Diaphenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick didn’t have a lot of rules in his bar, but the most important one was that Schmidt couldn’t talk to him while he was in the zone. </p><p>Except now Schmidt was breaking that one Schmidt-specific rule. “Nicholas Checkmate Miller, we have superheros in the bar.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Looks Like Crazy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lastingopposite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastingopposite/gifts).



> I read lastingopposite's letter even before assignments went out, and when I saw _Nick serves one of the Marvel heroes in his bar, and doesn’t recognize them. Schmidt does._ I thought it was terrifically clever and hoped someone would write it. Naturally, I was assigned this prompt! Lastingopposite, I hope you have as much fun reading this as I had writing it.

Nick didn’t have a lot of rules in his bar, but the most important one was that Schmidt couldn’t talk to him while he was in the zone. He had to do inventory, and a quiet Tuesday night was the perfect time. 

Except now Schmidt was breaking that one Schmidt-specific rule. “Nicholas Checkmate Miller, we have superheros in the bar.”

“Is this another thing about your balls? Because I think you are grossly misusing the—”

“No, this isn’t about Laverne and Shirley. This is about the Avengers, the somewhat-masked group of vigilantes who destroyed New York two years ago. We’re talking sixteen billion dollars in damages.”

“And they’re in my bar?”

“Don’t you ever watch the news? There was this whole big thing, very scary, supervillains. Anyway, yes, they’re in your bar. Turn around.”

Nick started to turn when Schmidt grabbed his shirt. “ _Subtly_. That was about as subtle as a bull in field of cows, trying to get laid.”

“Have you ever actually seen a cow? Because I’m willing to bet you haven’t,” Nick said, tilting his head ever so slightly. He saw a group of six sitting at a table, calmly sipping from glasses. They didn’t look so _super_ to him, maybe a few of them were well-built, but what did he know? And no one was wearing tights or capes, just regular clothes like regular people. “Are you sure these guys are magic?”

“Magic’s not the word I used. _Super_ is the word I used.”

“Well, I’ll be super-pissed if you scare them off. Just leave ‘em alone.”

“I will,” Schmidt said. “Probably.”

***

“I think Thor was looking at my penis,” Coach said, grabbing his beer. “I have to say, it was less weird than I would’ve thought.”

“The god?” Nick asked. Though he hadn’t asked Schmidt to, and in fact had told him repeatedly to stop, Schmidt had whipped out one of his fancy devices and had spent half an hour explaining who was who. So he not only knew which superhero had which superpower, but he also knew their shoe sizes and if their hair was good. 

“Yeah, the King of Space was looking at Little Coach over at the urinals. I told you I had the best dick in the loft.”

“That was never _properly_ voted on. Some people would say mine was the best.”

“Those people would be in error.”

“You’re in error,” Nick said, glancing back over at the superhero table. Thor was in a white tshirt, and just looked like a normal guy. A normal guy with too much hair and too many well-defined muscles, but a guy. “Does this penis-thing mean you have to sleep with him?”

Coach looked thoughtful. “You know I’m not gay—you _know_ it, you know what I’m saying, but I think if someone single-handedly saves New York—”

“I thought there were six of them.”

“—you should probably sleep with them on principal.”

“Great. I hope you two are very happy together. Just, don’t do anything weird, ok?”

***

“Iron Man just offered me a thousand dollars to, and I quote, _set fire to the My Little Pony collection I obviously have,_ ” Jess said, sliding into her usual seat at the bar.

“That’s a lot of money,” Nick said. “You should take the money. Pay bills.”

“I’m not taking the money.” She sighed. “I just don’t understand how he _knows_.”

Nick knew, because he’d discovered what it was to have sex while Cracker Jack and Apple Sky were watching. Not that he wouldn’t give his big toe to have that problem again, but. It was a little weird, for a grown woman to have action figures on her dresser. “You give off the air.”

“I’m going to start wearing suits,” she said.

When Nick was young, he’d had a lot of fantasies about flying. He’d jump off the garage, which his mother never seemed to notice, but when he’d stare at the sky, she’d whack his hand. _Don’t look into the sun_ , she say. _You’re going to hurt yourself._.

He hadn’t really understood that until he and Jess broke up. He limited himself to looking at her a handful of times.

He handed her a beer, and let himself look at her. Her lashes were still impossibly long, and her hair was shiny, and her polka dot dress thing was perfect. 

She smiled at him, but she was careful not to let their fingers brush.

He looked away. If he wasn’t careful, she’d burn his retinas.

***

“I need four shots to start. Something good. Maybe lemon drops,” Winston says, throwing two tenners on the counter. “And then I need you to keep them coming.”

Nick sighed. “While I appreciate that you actually pay me money, you know shots are $6 each, right?”

“Yeah, I’m having a shot-off with Captain America,” Winston said, his wallet still firmly in his back pocket. 

“That seems like a bad idea.”

“Please. He might be a little muscular, but I regularly win True American, the most American of drinking games.”

“No one has ever won True American, not really,” Nick said. Something about this bothered him. “Listen, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you should talk to Schmidt. I think that one’s on weird medicine or something. You can’t take him.”

“Can, will, practically already have. Besides, it’s a bet for charity. And I trust him. Staring at him is like looking into the soul of an eagle.”

“We’ve been over this. Birds don’t have souls. Only mammals, and fish.” He pulled out four shot glasses, and vowed to water down the shots from here on out. 

***

Schmidt shouldn’t have hit on an international super spy. Nick could’ve told him that. In fact, he had. “ _Don’t hit on the super spy_ ,” had been his exact words. And now his best friend was in an ambulance. Not that Schmidt was hurt, really, but she knocked the wind out of him using about two fingers, and Nick was concerned. 

He didn’t kick the super spy out of the bar. She’d made eye contact with him while he was on the phone with 911, and, well, it just seemed like a bad idea. 

***

“I need to trick Bruce Banner over there into giving me his phone number,” Cece said, putting down a tray.

“You have a boyfriend. He’s a child, but he’s yours,” Nick said. 

“I know that. Not for me. I want to set him up with—a friend.”

“One of the models?” He looked over at Cece, who was suddenly studying the bottles of liquor very carefully. It was too much to hope that she’d finally wanted to get good at her job, which meant only one thing. “You mean Jess.”

“Don’t freak out on me, Miller. You guys broke up, she’s single, she’s bored, and he’s single, at least according to TMZ, and I think they’d get along.”

“You don’t get to set her up with a superhero!”

“You don’t get to stop her from dating!”

“He literally turns into a giant green monster when he’s upset! What’s he going to do when she decides to participate in Vegan November?”

“I guess he’s going to eat tofurkey and be sad like the rest of us.”

“Or when she hogs to bathroom for an hour to curl her hair?”

“Probably handle it like an _adult_ would.”

“Or when she gives him some really elaborate Christmas present and he feels like his could never compare? Or demands he uses proper spelling in his text messages? Or when she’s planning out their future too much and isn’t, you know, leaving time to stop and enjoy things as they happen?”

Cece grabbed his hands. “Stop. You two ended it. You can’t just put her on hold until you work through your issues.” 

“I know, but...”

“And besides, the things that made _you_ mad aren’t necessarily going to make anyone else mad.”

“Clearly,” Nick said. “You haven’t eaten vegan meat.”

***

It was 2am before everyone left, and Nick was exhausted. He’d let Cece go home at closing, because, frankly, he wanted some time to himself before going back to an apartment full of people. 

He was stacking chairs on the table, practically by muscle memory, when he heard a noise. 

“Shit,” he whispered. 

It was one of the superheros, who put his hands up carefully as if to show he meant no harm. “Just here to leave a tip.”

“You’re the archer,” Nick said. 

“Clint,” the superhero said. 

“I’m Nick. Why aren’t you being all stealthy? I bet you could sneak in here and out and I’d never even notice you were here.”

“I’m off the clock,” Clint said with a laugh. 

“And your group already tipped,” he said, jerking his head towards the register. 

“Yeah, but I wanted to thank you too. I know my crowd’s a...handful.”

“Mine too,” Nick admitted. 

Clint shook his head ruefully. “I shouldn’t have let Steve challenge anyone to drinking contest. He’s just got a sense of humor, no one thinks that.”

“I shouldn’t have let Schmidt hit on the lady, or anyone, ever.”

“I think Tasha found it funny. But I shouldn’t have at least attempted to stop her from hitting him.”

“You should’ve,” Nick said. “Sorry Coach challenged the blond guy to an arm-wrestling contest.”

“Thor doesn’t always know his own strength. Sorry for Tony, ever.”

“I think we can just agree that everyone we hang out with is a little off.”

Clint smiled. “We’re the only two normal people in the place.”  
A pipe groaned, and suddenly Clint disappeared. Nick shook his head, half-certain he’d dreamed the whole encounter, but then he turned and saw Clint pop up behind the bar, a long knife in hand. 

Nick dropped the ground. Obviously, this was how he was going to die, in his own bar, at the hands of the guy that destroyed half of New York. At least he’d told his mother he loved her, two year ago.

“Sorry,” Clint said, sheathing the knife. “Had to make sure that wasn’t a villain.”

“I try not to let those people into here,” Nick said, chuckling nervously. 

Maybe it was time to update the rules of the bar.


End file.
